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chapter twenty-two
BIRDS OF PREY

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tw: violence/gore—horrible peacekeepers

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The garden has been relocated to Sage's backyard now that Alondra's house isn't her house anymore. Technically, it never was hers, just another blood-stained gift handed to her by The Capitol for her to live out the rest of her days in "peace." It doesn't matter if there's surviving family members to make it a home, nor if there's a will written to say otherwise. The Capitol is known for having no shame taking back what they've given.

So Penny, Alondra's only daughter, is now homeless. She could go back to Saeville, her mother's birthplace in the Beef Sector, but...

When she climbs up the steps of Shep's Mansion, Penny is already dressed and ready for their trip into town, hardly noticing Sage's arrival as she pets a tail-wagging, stick-chewing Arlo. She turns when Sage nudges her shoulder gently with her bag of tomatoes and cauliflower. Penny glances up, and both women grin at each other warmly.

"Hey."

"Hey." Penny stands from her crouch, grimacing when her knees crack before she peeks into one of Sage's bags. Then she wrinkles her nose. "Cauliflower? Why'd you grow cauliflower?"

Sage frowns in false hurt, straightening as she hands the bag to her. "It's rich in fiber."

"It's rich in smelling like feet," the older woman chuckles. Nevertheless, she still takes the bag of freshly grown produce, relieving Sage's fatigued arms. The Victor's other palm is turning white from the weight pulling at the handles, and she shrugs to adjust her grip on the third bag, placing her hand at the base instead.

Penny glances behind her. "He should be out any se—"

The door creaks open, and Shep's familiar figure whirs in front of them. He gestures for Arlo to come back inside where it's cool with his hand, and the dog obeys, stick still clenched between his teeth. Shep catches it before he can bring the mess inside, gently tossing it back onto the porch with a clatter. Arlo looks disappointed, but not surprised.

"He always tries to bring sticks inside," Shep mumbles, carefully shutting the door to keep a curious Arlo away. The Victor sighs, now fully turning to acknowledge the two women. The green in his eyes is relatively clear, no fog lingering for a change, and he offers a faint smile. "Sorry I was running late."

"You're right on time to carry these tomatoes for me," Sage quips. She hands him the bag, and he takes it with ease. Then she flickers her stare between the two newest roommates. "Ready?"

Penny nods. "Ready."

It's become a wholesome routine for this new trio to journey into the heart of Fairfort's market each time the garden is ready to be plucked of its rewards. Sage does the planting, pruning and nurturing— Penny assisting every now and then to feel closer to her mother— and Shep does the carrying. Well, at least of the heavier bags. He isn't one to do the talking, per usual, mostly just listening to the two women debate back and forth, chuckling every now and then to remind them he's actually paying attention.

He's been better these past months. Or maybe Sage has gotten better at reading him since their first year Mentoring together. Either way, the ratio of foggy days to sunny ones has shifted for the better.

Sage is grateful Shep has someone else to keep him company besides his dog. She's grateful they all have each other.

They stop at Mrs. Dorset's stand first to relieve their aching and quivering muscles. Like always, she's exceedingly grateful, a million thank-you's uttered. She adores the few strawberries Sage was able to muster up.

"There's enough here that I could make a glaze for their morning biscuits." Another one of her bright smiles as she makes eye contact with each of them. "Thank you. Myself and the kids are always so appreciative that someone out there thinks of us."

Eventually, the three of them divide and conquer as they tackle their grocery lists. Shep goes on his lonesome toward the butcher's stand, while Penny and Sage pair off toward the Mercantile. The women link arms as they walk in comfort. Sage's gaze combs a stand of fabrics and patches lazily.

"I need some thread," Penny announces. She inspects several spools from the stand, trying to peek over another shopper's shoulder. "Shep has this ratty old flannel he refuses to part with. I figure if he won't buy himself a new one then we'll just have to fix it up."

Sage knows exactly which one she's referring to. Its hems are raw, looking as if a goat chewed on the ends, elbows worn and thinning and there's a button or two missing. Despite Ten's heat, he wears it any chance he gets. He'd probably wear it to the Reaping if Philo didn't chastise him for it, insisting he look presentable like a true Victor.

A corner of Sage's lips quirk upward as she watches Penny inspect the threads. "He's been more sociable since you moved in." She raises a dark brow, pretending to be interested in a patch she doesn't need. Although, when she thinks about it, Shiloh does have a hole on his jeans along his knee. "He actually wants to come out of his house now."

"Must be from all my chit chat— probably drives him crazy like it did my mother. I swear, I do all the talking, he does all the listening." She smirks, and Sage chuckles lightly. "Man probably can't even hear himself think so he has no choice but to talk and get all his thoughts out now."

Then she shrugs, gaze narrowing between two spools of thread, the shades of green rivaling each other. "The flannel was from his Mama. I suppose I understand him being so sentimental about it. I sleep with my mom's quilt every night."

It took some time for Sage to figure out what exactly happened to Shep's mother. He isn't one to talk about himself, but when he does, it comes in bits and pieces, as if he's rediscovered the information as well, slowly putting the puzzle back together of who he is. It was this past spring when he mumbled the last piece of the puzzle that Sage finally figured it out. A brief mentioning of a renowned party she knows all too well.

Even when his green eyes are cloudy with the horrors and trauma of the Arena, they're still pretty. The Capitol seemed to think so themselves, inviting him to that Gleam Gala they invited Sage to the moment he turned eighteen. He refused their terms.

So now his mother's dead. No matter how many times he apologizes, her bones will always be cold.

Had Sage not had Ptolemus approach her that fateful night, she can't help but wonder if she might be missing a mother, a father or a brother too. The thought of it all makes her shiver in Ten's heat.

Penny swivels on her heels to face her, weighing the two options of thread in her hands. "Which do you think matches his flannel best? Trying to figure out which one's darker is making my eyes hurt."

Sage glances between the two, before pointing toward the emerald spool. "This one."

"Just what I was thinking," Penny grins. She places the other one down and turns to the vendor, digging in her pocket for some coins.

Sage ends up buying a few patches that she was eyeing as well. All of her brothers' jeans could use one the more she thinks about it. She'd buy them new everything if they wouldn't refuse her. She picks up some chocolates for Erabelle and Coretta from the Mercantile, and some oranges for her mother and father from the produce stand. The two women are walking back to the butcher's stand to encounter Shep with their findings in tow when they notice the crowd of the market has grown scarcer. Uncharacteristic for a Sunday in Fairfort.

Then she hears it. The wet, slapping sounds cutting through the air like a blade, followed shortly by a pained scream. The glossy memory of Zo's friend chained to the post when she was a little girl comes to mind, and Sage feels her blood run cold. She knows exactly what that sound is.

A whip.

The sound cracks again like lightning, echoing between the alleys of the market and in the direction of the Justice Building.The instinct to hide her face into her father's knee has long been outgrown, something more reckless taking its place. Sage breaks into a sprint toward the strangled scream sounding afterward, arm awkwardly yanking itself free from Penny's. She hears her call her name, but she ignores it, almost dropping her belongings as she darts right to the chaos. Eventually, she hears who she assumes is Penny following.

The Justice Building looms taller than the other structures of Fairfort, peering over the roofs back down at her. She turns another alley or two until she sees the crowd of people gathered in a grim circle. Another CRACK—CRACK! and everyone shudders at both lashes. It's when she hears their startling succession that she realizes it's not just one poor soul strung up to be flogged. It's at least two.

Penny's footsteps pound behind her, and she feels the woman's hand graze her shoulder, but she's too fast. There's no time for pleasant "excuse-me's" as Sage pushes her way through the crowd. Some move for her, others are too glued to the gorish scene in front of them. It isn't until she's parted to the second row of people that she sees all the posts.

They glare ominiously beneath the scorching sun, casting shadows across Ten. Sage counts five. All of them capture a wounded civilian in their clutches, backs bare and bloody.

Five white arms rise in the air menacingly, the Peacekeepers' unison eerie and precise. The victims range in age and gender, one at least sixty, another no older than sixteen. Sage feels her stomach lurch when they screech their animal-like screeches from the unforgiving whips. She peers across the crowd for someone to do something, anything, but all they can do is watch, like uneasy cattle too afraid to be next.

Pools of blood shine darkly in the sun, and Sage takes a step forward before she can think better of it.

She doesn't get far, a familiar hand latching onto her bicep and holding her in place. His grip spooks her as she almost jumps into the air, wild eyes finding his cloudy ones. Shep stands beside her, Penny not far off, still shoving her way through the crowd to catch up with them both. His chest heaves, the terror glimmering in his own gaze, but his lips are in a tight-line as he gives her a firm shake of his head.

"There's nothing we can do," Shep murmurs, eyes avoiding the gory scene.

Sage wants to be angry with him, wants to rip herself out of his grip, but she knows he's right. He's right and she hates it because it shows just how powerless they all are. How powerless she is. Her eyes sting with tears when the sixteen year old screams for their mother, the sound of the whip's cracks rattling her chest bone.

Things are getting worse. Everything's getting worse. How much longer can the people of Ten live like this?

A shadow glides over the posts and circles the crowd. No one else notices it but her. When she glances up, the glare of the sun wraps its wings in a blinding white as if it were an angel. But Sage knows what it is. Her father's words echo in her ears the same way they did in the Arena on Death's Door.

"Seeing a hawk means that we are protected, Mija. It's letting us know that it sees everything, and it will protect us, one way or another."

Sage feels those sparks again, flickering just beneath her heart. The hawk's wings remind her of Katniss's mockingjays. Her voice is so low, she isn't sure if she's thought it or said it. But judging by the way Shep's curious stare burns into her cheek, it's clear he's heard her. It's a promise her spirit makes before her mind can remind her it's far too dangerous.

"Yet."

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Gunnar slides on another plate, the metal clinking together as Ptolemus's chest heaves from the first set. Sweat clings to his forehead and the back of his neck, muscles aching. The pungent stench of iron stings his nose, and he adjusts his grip on the patterned bar. He counts the weight looming above his head as his friend rounds the bench to spot.

"Two-eighty?"

His best friend nods and grins. "Two-eighty. New record for you, buddy."

Ptolemus shakes his head. "I think you're trying to kill me."

"That's how I felt when you added the extra plates on my bar last week. Do you see these noodle arms?"

"Aren't those noodle arms supposed to spot me in case this goes south?" he asks, quirking a brow.

Gunnar grins his big goofy grin as he holds his palms up in surrender. "Hey, you could've teamed up with any of those Academy kids to be friends with. Not my fault you decided to hang out with the kid who nearly stabbed his toe on the first day."

The Legacy just chuckles, bracing himself for the next rep. Gunnar hovers his hands nearby as Ptolemus inhales a deep breath, lifting the weight and pushing it away from his chest. It's shaky and his muscles burn, but he still ends up finishing his set of six. The bar clinks loudly back into place, and Ptolemus slides out from under, reaching for his water bottle. His lungs heave, and he brushes the sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes. He almost chokes on his water when Gunnar pats him hard and loud right between the shoulder blades.

"See? Wasn't so bad."

Ptolemus nods to the bar daringly again. "You try it then."

"Would love to, but can't." Gunnar smirks as he holds up his arms limply. "Noodles, remember?"

The two young men continue their workout like they always do until their bodies are tired, muscles aching and sweat dripping. By then, they clean up and gather their gym bags.

Ptolemus spies Brutus's familiar figure across the gym as he heaves on his coat, and the two men nod at one another cordially. The older Victor ignores Gunnar as if he weren't even there. That's his way of turning a blind eye to Ptolemus breaking the rules of inviting his friend, an Academy dropout, to utilize the facilities. Brutus returns to his set, the number of plates on his bar almost causing it to bend into a crescent.

As he and Gunnar exit the doors of The Academy gym, the cool winter air brings their heated forms to a chill. They stride down those marble steps, eventually merging into the streets of Ravenna. Even in the darkness, the sun long set, Ptolemus can still see his breath swirling in front of him. His stare combs the people, the buildings, the mountains looming above meticulously, searching for cracks.

"What's it been like in your District the last few months?"

Since she asked at the Victory Tour party, Ptolemus can't seem to get Sage's question out of his head. It was so oddly placed and unexpected. He figured that night would be hard for her— she hates Capitol parties like him— and going to a party celebrating two people that aren't her Tributes surely digs up some old wounds. But he still didn't expect her to ask him anything like that.

Even he's still in shock with the last Games outcome. Two Victors. Two kids got to make it out alive— an unprecedented event. Something no one thought would ever be possible.

Their love story stunt was genius. Dangerous, but genius. It wouldn't surprise him if everyone's suddenly going to "fall in love" with their District Partner for the upcoming Quell, seeing just how far they can push the boundaries The Capitol's laid down.

But to answer her question, Two is still just Two. Bustling with hard workers who happen to be bitter that they weren't the ones to earn the title of a District that was able to bring home two Victors instead of one. After all, not only would such a feat be worth double the glory, but also double the money to keep everyone's bellies full. Ultimately, nothing shocking has caught his eye, leaving him stumped.

Well... that's not necessarily true. He isn't totally stumped.

She wouldn't have asked that unless something was wrong in Ten.

Ptolemus remembers that bruise on her arm two summers ago from a Peacekeeper's baton, and he clenches his jaw, side-glancing a whistling Gunnar. If something's going on, he has to know, working at the weapon manufacturer.

He inhales a sharp breath, trying to keep his tone casual and light. "So how's work been?"

Gunnar scoffs, wrinkling his nose. He swats a dismissive hand at the topic. "Work. Like always."

Ptolemus tries to hide his impatience at his friend's lackluster reply. Another shrug. "They still got you... making bullets?" He kicks a pebble down the sidewalk, grimacing at his wording.

"Bullets by the thousands," Gunnar quips with a nod. With his strides, he catches up to the pebble Ptolemus kicked, mindlessly doing the same as he shoves his hands into his pockets. Then he huffs and rubs at his nose.

"Dude, it smells so bad in there, I swear I'm going to die of lead poisoning. Their quotas keep increasing each week. Did you know they cut my lunch break? Fifteen minutes now! I gotta inhale my sandwich every day and then I end up with a belly ache."

His brows furrow, and his strides slow, only part of his friend's rambling blaring whistles and sirens at him. "The quotas are getting higher?"

"Mhm. Same with all the other manufacturers."

Gunnar pauses, glancing to his reflection in a shop window. He shifts a bit closer to Ptolemus so that their shoulders are brushing, and he stares down at his feet, voice dropping several octaves. The Legacy feels his bones coat themselves in iron as he braces for whatever he's about to share.

"My dad's buddy said something about them needing more guns in Eight. Well, he thinks he overheard someone say they were shipping more out to Eight, anyway."

He frowns. More guns to Eight? What's happening in Eight? He vaguely knows the District for its textile industry, people packed tightly in ratty tenements and children starving and frail. They die every year in the Games, their kids never equipped to fight, only perish. Just like the kids from Ten, Eleven and Twelve.

Then he remembers Mateo's speech right before he threw a blade into The Capitol's camera. The flames that danced in Sage's eyes when she spoke of the Peacekeepers who struck her for defending a child in the market. And her brother Colt out in the pasture as he spoke of the toll his sister's Reaping had on their family.

"And we're angry. We're angry for what they've done to our little sister."

Ptolemus stops in his tracks, and when Gunnar sees that he's not following, he halts too, blinking at his friend warily. His lips part. "Are you—"

The Legacy takes a step forward, voice a hushed whisper. He remembers that distant look in Sage's eyes from the party. "Did you hear anything about Ten?"

His friend stops and eyes him warily. He recognizes the worry pinched in his tone, and shakes his head. "No, I haven't." Gunnar raises his palms and searches his features. "Swear to Ares. Why? Is Sage alright?"

Ptolemus knows he's telling the truth. Not just from his tone or the honest look in his eyes, but because it's Gunnar. Gunnar would never lie to him. Not like Sage did that night— her gaze so trapped in another world to the point it felt like she was farther than she really was.

The Legacy sighs and shakes his head, starting to walk in the direction of home again, mind racing. "I don't know."

━━━━

The rebellion has found District Ten's Dairy Sector. And while Sage has been suspecting it to breathe fire right beneath her family's porch in Green Grove, it seems it's burned a different part of the map. Mabel, three Dairy Towns north of Falling Springs.

It's all been passed on in rumblings. Like a massive round of that children's game she remembers playing in school, Whisper Down the Lane, parts of the story have been shifted and altered. Either way you hear it, it all evokes such conflicting feelings. Courage and terror, pride and worry, the sense of being powerful and powerless. Most of the rumors all have two clear truths, those parts of the story never changing.

1. Three dairy trucks leaving Mabel were hijacked in the night on their way for shipment and processing, tankers rocked onto their sides and contents spilled into the dirt before it could ever reach a Capitol man or woman's cup.

2. All involved parties have been found and hanged.

Given the fact that all three of her brothers are safe in the pastures with her as they complete their daily chores, Sage feels comfortable enough to release one anxious breath that they are not part of the involved parties. But only one breath she can spare. Colt's barely contained smirk he's worn all day is enough to keep her holding onto the rest.

The two of them are perched along a giant rock, the stone warm beneath their flesh from the sun, watching Hero, Sunshine, and the herd graze along the edge of the pasture. Shiloh and Almanzo are in the northeast field with the other half. Sage practices weaving some of the blades of grass to keep her mind off things while Colt sharpens his hatchet with a stone.

Even with the peace of a familiar routine and beautiful day, Sage can't shake the image of those five new whipping posts in Fairfort, nor the sound of the people's screams. Her mind conjures up a harrowing scene in Mabel as if she were really there, feet dangling above the dirt to signify a short-lived victory.

Their shoes start to morph into all three of her brothers boots, and she winces.

Beneath the sound of metal scraping, she hears Colt humming something. Her ears prick as she listens to the tune. The first verse's lyrics materialize in her brain crisply.

When the wind blows and when the crow crows,
When those coyotes howl at night,
All the mamas and papas hug their babies so tight.
Lock your doors, turn off your lights.

She jerks violently at the chilling familiarity of it, arm swinging in his direction as her hand thumps into his shoulder.

Colt curses under his breath when he almost knicks himself with the hatchet. His nostrils flare as he glares over at her. "Uh, ow?" He glances down to his thumb once more to check that it's unscathed before blinking at her incredulously again. "What was that for?"

Her chest heaves, the tune of that wretched song still haunting her. "Stop humming that."

Colt straightens, lips cracking into an amused grin. He goes back to sharpening his hatchet. "Oh c'mon. Are you still scared of The Valley Man song?"

"Yes." She shakes her head at him, before glancing out at the cows again. All is well still, so she tries to return her focus to her weaving, braiding her unraveled nerves back together. She's startled by how suddenly they seemed to fray at the old song. "It's creepy, stop humming it."

Her brother smirks bigger again as he places his hatchet and stone down. Colt hunches his back, fingers outstretched to grab her shoulders, voice low and menacing. "He's coming to get you—"

Before his hands can latch down on her, her elbow goes soaring into his ribs, and he grunts. "Ow, Sage, okay."

Sage shrugs, still inspecting her busy fingers. This creation isn't coming out too bad. "I told you to stop." Then she clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. "You can hum literally anything else. Just not that song about that... that... creep."

"How do you know he's a creep?" Colt quirks a brow. "Whole song could just be a metaphor. Could be a ghost, could be a coyote, could be..." He lowers his voice again, smirking deviously. "Nahuales."

"Most songs and poems are metaphors." Sage's sweaty fingers struggle to get a grip on one slippery grass blade in particular, and she huffs.

Even though he was only humming the tune, Sage hears the verses distinctly, haunting her and evoking goosebumps along her flesh as if she's six years old again. They always petrified her as a child, it only taking her mother singing it once for her to never want to hear it again. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be free from it, other kids from school knowing the song too. Some felt similarly, the lyrics a creepy cursed memory of their childhood, and some didn't seem to mind as they hummed, whistled and sang the eerie tune.

The second verse comes rolling through before she can stop it, and she grinds her teeth together.

There's no sense in trying to fight.
He comes like a whisper, he comes like a shadow,
And he comes with no intentions to borrow.

"You've got it stuck in my head now," she grumbles, glaring over at him. She scratches at her temple as if it's an itch she can tame. No use as Colt chuckles.

"It's catchy, isn't it?" Her brother raises his hands dramatically into the air, belting out another line as if he were on a stage. "Oh here he comes, the valley man singing his so—"

Flames dance in her eyes. "Cállate."

Colt continues to ignore her, still smirking. His singing voice is almost as grating as the lyrics. "When you hear his song, you know it won't be long, that he takes—" Sage grunts and tosses her sad little grass basket at his face, but he just swats it away. He points right at her, and she shoves his finger away from her nose. "You and me through the alley."

"Do you ever listen?" Sage demands, leaping up from her perch along the rock. Her mother's voice intertwines with his as he sings another line.

"And we follow him deeper and deeper into the valley."

She feels as if she's teleported back in time around that campfire, shadows surrounding them and the mountains so ominous and looming. A woman from Falling Springs, Alba Oxford, had just gone missing without a trace. For the longest time, Sage thought it was the Valley Man, like from her mama's song, sending her erupting into tears the moment she finished singing. Now that she's older and wiser, she knows it was probably just Peacekeepers.

A song sang widely to District Ten children, it seems it's message is fairly cut and dry. Don't wander, stay close to your family, and you won't be taken by the Valley Man. The Valley Man most likely a metaphor for Peacekeepers, a warning not to break curfew.

For someone who seems to enjoy torturing his sister with such a disturbing song, he doesn't seem to understand the message. Sage turns to glower at him again from where she stands, but he isn't looking at her anymore. Instead, he's playing with the stone he was using to sharpen his hatchet.

"Deeper and deeper until we fall into the smoke and ash," Colt murmurs, no longer performing. This doesn't feel like his silly and obnoxious taunting anymore. He uses the stone to draw lines into the giant rock beneath him. "I promise we'll be there in the blink of a lightning flash."

The final note draws out, and chills roll across her bones involuntarily. Suddenly, everything around them is painfully quiet, grounding her right where she stands. Sage's chest heaves as she just watches him silently.

"You ever notice it has thirteen lines?" he muses thoughtfully, voice barely above a whisper. If he feels her glare, he doesn't mention it, simply staring at what he's written across the rock. Sage narrows her gaze and takes a step forward to inspect. He's drawn the number 13. He shrugs. "Sonnets are supposed to have fourteen."

Sage knows there's something more to his tone, the seriousness plaguing his eyes foreign to her. Then comes that creeping feeling again. That feeling that Colt is tangled into a web so much bigger than himself. Something that could get him in trouble like those people up in Mabel.

God, he can never stay out of trouble.

She scours their surroundings with an uneasy gaze, a few cows just blinking at her, even glancing up to the open sky. She doesn't know what she's looking for in particular. Just some kind of sign that The Capitol may be listening.

"Do you feel better now?" she asks tightly. "You've creeped me out."

He shrugs another infuriating shrug at her again. "It's creepy because you don't get it."

A scoff, and she sneers in bewilderment. "I don't get it?" Another nervous glance to the sky, to the cows, even to the hills behind them. Sage keeps her voice low in case, taking a step closer, toes pressed against the rock. "You're the one who doesn't seem to get it as of late."

"Here we go again," Colt huffs, rolling his eyes. He scribbles out the number he's drawn.

"Colt—"

"Aren't you going to ask me what I think it means?" her brother snaps, jerking his stare up to hers as his hat almost falls off his curls. "Or are you just going to keep assuming you're always right and not listen to anyone else like you always do?"

Sage blinks, startled by the harshness of his tone. There's no more taunting, no more teasing, and no more amusement. He's entirely serious.

Finally, she shrugs, shaking her head at him and folding her arms across her chest. "Fine, Colt. Tell me what you think it means then."

Judging by his tone, she really doesn't want to know. It's the same tone he has when he's defensive about his late nights with the guys from the Dairy. The two just blink at each other silently, tension in the air thick enough to slice.

He waits to see if she's really going to listen to him. Then he glances around too, maybe looking for the same things she does, and that brings an ounce of relief. At least he has some idea of discretion.

"I don't know completely what it means," Colt admits finally, and Sage scoffs. His whisper sharpens before she can interrupt him again. "But I do know it's not hard to disappear in Ten. We're all so spread out, they have no choice but let us be. Mother Nature's laws don't bend for The Capitol, and animals need room."

She's suddenly aware her heart is racing, and she's not sure as to why as she listens to her brother. Maybe it's because everything he's saying is true. True and dangerous with a double-meaning she's afraid to uncover. He isn't looking at her anymore, staring at the hills again, and she follows his gaze.

"Hutch thinks the Valley Man could be any of us." There's that name coming from her brother's lips again. One of the guys from the Dairy. It sparks a fury inside Sage, all her curiosity charred. She clenches her jaw as she listens. "Says the smoke and ash isn't a symbol of Hell. And that there's a reason why there's thirteen lines."

"Oh yeah?" Sage shoots dryly. "And what's that?"

Colt notes the return of her rigid tone, but just quirks his lips into a wry smile. "C'mon Sage, I thought you were supposed to be the clever one. Remember Alba Oxford?"

"Yes. She's partly why the song terrifies me in the first place."

He tosses the rock over the pasture fence with a flick of his wrist. She almost doesn't hear what he says, either because her heart is beating in her skull or because he keeps his voice that low. At least he has some sense to keep his voice that low.

"There's been whispers of people fleeing Ten to go to Thirteen for years."

She'd laugh at him if she weren't petrified right now. Instead, she just blinks at him over and over again, shaking her head. "Thirteen is radioactive, Colt."

"That's what they say," he shrugs. He quirks a brow at her. "When have you ever known them to tell the truth?"

She doesn't let his words sink in, batting them away. Partly to protect herself, but mostly to protect him. Him and everyone else she cares about. She wants to shake him, to scream at him, to snap him back into reality as the tears well up again. She can hear the creaking of her grandmother's rocking chair, President Snow peering over at her with his transluscent stare, lips enunciating on her brother's name.

Any spark in her dies out as quickly as it was born when she remembers the way he said his name.

"It's just a song," she lies to herself, shaking her head dismissively.

He clicks his tongue with doubt. "Sa—"

"It's just a song, Colt." Her voice breaks, betraying her as tears start to burn her eyes. She glowers over at him pointedly, and her tone must surprise him, because he just blinks dumbly at her. His lips part, but she stops him again, holding up a stern and unyielding hand as if to clench his voice. "Stop. Stop all of it. Say it's just a song."

He scowls at her, stubbornly shaking his head. He can never let her win. "It's not just a song, Sage."

Colt's smart. Colt's too smart for his own good it makes him stupid. She can see him tying the noose right around his own neck this very moment, and she desperately strains to free him before it's too late.

"Is that what Hutch says?" A tear slips out of her eye, and she jerkily brushes it away with her thumb. "He seems like a great friend."

Her brother stands suddenly, startling her as she backpedals. He peers down at her with a fiery glare. "I can come up with my own thoughts too, ya know." Colt ties the noose tighter around his neck. "And I concur, yeah, it's not just a song."

The terror is so mangled up inside her, like a weed spreading and tangling up its roots, squeezing the air right out of her lungs. She's full on crying now, the furious tears boiling over and her lips twisting into a snarl as she glares back up at her big brother. It's like staring at a ghost, and she waits for him to evaporate right in front of her. She tugs on his shirt to keep him where he stands.

"Why can't you just listen to me or anybody for once?" Sage demands, voice breaking. "You're scaring the hell out of me— out of all of us."

She shakes him, and there's a crack in his glare, a twinge of sympathy. She feels just like a little girl again.

"I saw them whip those people for those petty crimes. You heard about the executions in Mabel. Hell, I defended a little boy and was threatened to be killed over it by the Peacekeepers, and I'm a Victor—"

"Yeah, you're a Victor," he snaps sharply, nostrils flaring. "Everyone in this family is reminded every day that you're a Victor."

She stiffens, blinking at him. "What does that mean?" He shakes his head at her, clenching his jaw as he glares up at the sky. When he doesn't offer more, she tries to get him to listen again. "Things are getting worse, Colt, and you can't be a part of it, don't you get that?"

"Things are always getting worse," he fires back. "Whether we fight back or not, they're always getting worse."

She grimaces at his words, gaze whipping around the pasture again, half-expecting Snow to be standing right behind her. When he raises his voice, she winces as if she's been struck.

"I couldn't do shit when you were in that Arena. Do you have any idea what that was like?" he demands. He shakes his head at her again, not even waiting for her to respond. "Things are always getting worse, Sage. Every fucking day they're always going to get worse until we do something about it, and I'm tired of it!"

Sage shakes her head, unable to listen anymore, stifling the urge to plug her ears. She can see it so clearly now. Her brother dead— hanged, beaten, shot, whatever they might decide.

It all reduces her to a scared little girl again. "Please stop."

Sage breaks into soundless sobs when Colt wraps her into a fierce and tight hug, and she clings back to him, fisting the sleeves of his shirt to keep him safe. She knows it's only futile, feeling those flames that burn in her too illuminating his entire body. Taming a spirit as wild as his is impossible. His chin digs into the crown of her head, and he huffs, voice dropping several octaves.

"I'm tired of it," he murmurs again. "And I know you are too."

She nods before she can think better of it, choking on another sob. "It can't be you," she begs him. "Let them, but not you." A shaky inhale as she quivers. "Please."

He doesn't promise her anything. Instead, Colt sighs, squeezing his little sister tightly. As if for the last time. That only makes her cry harder.

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!!! Feel free to comment your thoughts and reactions, I love hearing from you!!

Ahhhh this chapter was hard for me to write ngl, so please let me know what you think. Colt and Sage have me all stressed and emotional 😢

Predictions? Thoughts? Worries? Idk how I feel about this chapter, but here she is.

Also, I am by no means a song writer lol and idk how Suzanne Collins does it, but I did write the Valley man song! Here are all the lyrics altogether. And I know the last line sounds like a hint to the Quell Arena but it is not!! I just couldn't come up with another rhyme for ash that would work lol.

But does anyone have a song from their childhood that creeps them out? I was trying to convey that feeling through Sage so hopefully it was clear. Mine was The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia by Reba McEntire. Shit was haunting lol.

Ugh, this act is about to get pretty heavy. Get some tissues. I'm sad just thinking about it :'(

The Valley Man song

when the wind blows and when the crow crows,
when the coyotes howl at night,
all the mamas and papas hug their babies so tight.
lock your doors, turn off your lights,
there's no sense in trying to fight.

he comes like a whisper, he comes like a shadow,
and he comes with no intentions to borrow.
oh here he comes, the valley man singing his song.
when you hear his song, you know it won't be long.

that he takes you and me through the alley,
and we follow him deeper and deeper into the valley,
deeper and deeper until we fall into the smoke and ash,
i promise we'll be there in the blink of a lightning flash.

Word Count: 6670